The Last Enemy
by starsailor iphigenia
Summary: Freylin AU. Sequel to The Crystal Rose. As Freya struggles with deciding whether to trust her destiny or her instincts, the blind faith of the druids and the people of Camelot create a reality of their own. When the walls of reality weaken, this turns her into a god. Advice from Tiffany Aching helps pull her back to mortality. (3/3)
1. Chapter 1

**This is the sequel to The Crystal Rose and picks up in the middle of a battle, so if you haven't read that first, you're going to be confused. More notes at the end of the chapter, including spoilers for the previous stories in this series.**

The sudden clamor of the warning bell came as a relief to Merlin. He opened his eyes. There was silence outside, apart from the bell. He turned his head slightly. The sunrise cast a faint illumination over the sky.

He was lying, fully dressed, on his bed, curled up in a tight ball. He hadn't been able to sleep for days. The power was leaving him. He was barely strong enough now to lift a feather. It was a horrible feeling. He'd lost his magic once before, and he had never felt so lost and helpless. Now it was worse. Instead of finding that it was suddenly gone, he had felt it trickle away and nothing he could do that stopped it.

The dreams had been the worst. He knew what was happening. He was no longer needed. He'd protected Arthur until he had become King. That had really been his destiny. He'd provided the foundation for Albion, but it was not his destiny to live to see it rise. Nimueh had been right.

Had she felt this awful lost feeling? Was that why she had been so vicious, had tried to kill him instinctively, before she even knew who he was? He sat up, holding a blanket around his shoulders, and shuddered as a spike of molten ice came down from the clouds swirling in a dark haze above the gate into the courtyard. His successor was powerful, every bit as powerful as he himself had been at Camlann, perhaps more so. At least his death would be swift. No one could survive that kind of power for more than a second.

Merlin hoped that his successor would be a good man. He rather thought he was. He'd been feeling his presence for months now, in dreams and in fluctuations in the fabric of the world. He was glad that he'd found and killed Nimueh so quickly. He hadn't realized it at the time, but that had been the most merciful thing to do. She hadn't had time to linger on, fading, diminishing, feeling the years of immortality settling down on her.

But Arthur! What would happen to him? Would the new sorcerer love him and protect him as I have? Merlin wondered, staring blankly at the wall. He sighed and got up, going slowly over to one of the windows in his bedroom. He unlatched it and leaned out. From here, he could just see the courtyard.

It was crawling with the new soldiers from the Other Side. Melisende had insisted that they stay in the castle. She must have felt the new sorcerer coming, just like he had, and had them waiting there for hours. It was typical of her not to have told him. Now that he had lost his power, she treated him with undisguised contempt. She showed no mercy to the weak. And I could have taken her out with a blink a few months ago, he thought miserably. Why didn't I? Her daughter killed Cottia. She tried to kill Arthur. She promised she wouldn't send a patrol after him and then she did.

He shifted uneasily. He'd spend two weeks in the dungeons for objecting to that, and hadn't had the strength to break out. He was still in pain from the beating the guards had given him.

There was a cloud of mist, and the gate disintegrated. Despite himself, Merlin nodded approvingly. That was clever, and so simple, elemental. The new sorcerer had just shifted the cold from the storm above him into the gate, literally freezing it solid, and then melted it with a touch. He'd have liked to meet the man - boy, probably. Merlin wondered how old he was. Probably still a teenager, like he had been. Well, he wouldn't have to struggle so hard. Arthur knew now that not all magic was evil. At least the young man wouldn't have to live in fear of his life.

In the crush of green uniforms, Arthur's shining armor stood out, and the new daylight glinted off his fair hair. As he raised Excalibur to meet a soldier, the golden runes flashed for an instant on its side.

Now Merlin could see his successor. He was much shorter than Arthur, slightly built, swathed in a long dark cloak with slits cut out of it for his arms, and using a sword nearly as long as Excalibur with considerable skill. He was almost as good a swordsman as the King, Merlin realized with a dull feeling of surprise. But there was no doubt that he was a sorcerer. A sphere of cold fire was licking hungrily at the air as he held it in his free hand, a ball of pure energy held coiled up like a spring.

Merlin closed his eyes in pain. He'd seen this, in a nightmare. Arthur had been with him then. He'd woken him up, reassured him, changed the dream. I should be with him, Merlin thought despondently. I promised him I'd always be there. And now . .

The new sorcerer was catlike in his movements, quick and strong like a dancer. He cleared a small space around himself and the King. Then, suddenly, as a new wave of soldiers crashed into them, they both made the same odd twirling movement, a slight reflex of the arm, as they raised their swords. Merlin stared. The only people he'd ever seen do that were Arthur, Uther, and Morgana. That was . . . odd.

Now he could see the knights behind Arthur, pressing in under the arch of the broken gate. They were in a spearhead formation, led by Leon and Percival. There were other, shadowy, shapes there too, and he stared at them until his eyes watered. They were druids, moving slowly forward, protected by the knights. Why weren't they fighting?

Merlin rested his chin on his hands and watched Arthur, never taking his eyes off the shining figure fighting for his life in the courtyard below.

0000

They'd gotten through the gate and a little way into the courtyard. Freya stabbed a soldier, and as he fell back, looked quickly behind her. The knights were following them, only about fifteen paces behind, protected by the druids from arrows and bullets. Mordred was using the Sidhe staff with deadly accuracy, and following up its stunning blasts with slashes from his long daggers. Thalassa was perched on a crenellation, blowing gusts of white-hot flame on any soldier who made it through the gate. Freya grinned mirthlessly and turned back.

A heavy blow struck her, nearly making her fall. She stumbled backwards into Arthur. He turned and caught her around the waist with one hand, still fending off their attackers.

"What is it?" he asked breathlessly.

The weight was unbearable. She felt the pressure pushing her down, making her submit. "Someone's fighting back," she gasped. "Magic. Strong magic."

He was holding her up now, but he couldn't defend both of them. The soldiers were closing in.

A movement from the balconies that overlooked the courtyard caught her eye even as she sank to the ground. Archers were filing in, raising their crossbows. And she couldn't even shield herself, much less the King, and the druids thought she could.

"Get back to them," she tried to say. "Leave me."

"Like hell I will," said Arthur, standing protectively over her and lashing out at the soldiers.

0000

Merlin watched with alarm as the new sorcerer collapsed, leaving Arthur alone in the mass of enemies. Melisende must be dueling with him, he thought. And he's just used a lot of his strength to open the gate. He's going to win, of course. She can't kill the earth and the sea and the sky.

Then he saw the archers, and his heart seemed to stop. Archers, hundreds of them, all aiming their shafts at the King, now defending his new sorcerer. Alone. Cut off from his knights.

Merlin summoned the last bits of his strength. He didn't have the power to shield Arthur, or to deflect all the arrows. But he could still feel the young man's mind, and as he reached out into it he felt the weight of Melisende's telepathic attack. He braced himself and put all his strength into one last assault.

0000

Freya's head snapped up. The awful crushing weight had gone. She leapt to her feet, stabbing a man who was coming at the King from behind, and raking her claws across the exposed face of the man next to him. She spared a moment to gaze at them curiously. She had felt the itch as they tried to slide out before, when she was angry, but now she had her actual cat claws, still shimmering slightly with golden light, extending out from human hands beneath her fingernails. She slid them back in. They were useful, but not good for her grip on Mordred's sword.

She looked up and saw the archers preparing to fire. She stopped the arrow storm with an irritable wave of her hand, and then snatched the bows from their grasp and sent them flying to smash against the stone castle walls with a contemptuous glance. The bolts flew down and struck some of the archers' own men.

Arthur was watching her. "Are you all right? What happened?"

"Someone attacked me with magic, but they've stopped. Come on."

The knights had reached them. Mordred came up behind her, and she gave him back his sword, taking her staff in return. She tossed the ball of crackling sky magic - the power of the storm - up and down thoughtfully in her hand, then balanced it carefully on the tip of the staff. The blue crystal pulsed and glowed until it hurt her eyes to look at it.

"Sire," she said.

"Yes?" said Arthur.

"Tell your men to charge."

She took her staff in both hands and aimed the tip at the entrance to the keep. Then she let it discharge.

0000

Merlin watched through half-closed eyes as the knights of Camelot, and a lot of druids, hundreds of them, stormed the keep. They had to walk over the burnt and twisted bodies of the soldiers from the Other Side, but they didn't seem to notice. Some of the druids were chasing down the few soldiers who had not been instantly killed in the blast from the staff the new sorcerer had used, but most of them had already entered the castle.

He stumbled away from the window. He'd seen enough. Arthur had as good as reclaimed his throne. The new sorcerer would not be overwhelmed again. Merlin had done all he could, and he felt limp and weak as he knew that the last of his power was gone. He was useless now.

He put on his jacket and picked up the bag he'd kept packed by his bed for days. Then, without a backward glance, he left his chambers, went down the stairs, through a maze of cold, echoing halls where the sound of fighting was carried down to him, and into the tunnels beneath the castle.

Half an hour later, he emerged from the mouth of a fallen-in siege tunnel into the forest. He'd had to dodge a few roving bands of druids and knights, but no one had seen him. After all, he had had the run of those tunnels for centuries, all alone, while the land slept. He knew every inch of the castle and the lower town, and the forest for thirty miles around it.

When he was too exhausted to take another step, he sank down on the ground and called for Kilgarrah. The old dragon came, flying slowly, and landed before him. Merlin looked up at him, smiling for the first time in months.

"You came," he said.

"I cannot resist your call," said Kilgarrah. "Is it time?"

"Yes, I think so." Merlin got up, and with difficulty, climbed up to sit astride Kilgarrah's back.

"Where would you have us go, young warlock?"

"I'm not young anymore, Kilgarrah. I'm older than you were when we met. I know I don't look it, but I feel it. I - I don't have magic anymore, you know."

Kilgarrah's huge wings beat the air as he slowly climbed up into the sky. "You and I were born of magic, Merlin. We can never lose it."

"I may still have it, but I can't use it. Not now. My place in the world is filled by someone else. I saw him in action today. He seems a good fighter, and Arthur defended him when he was attacked by Melisende, so they must get on well together."

"That is good." Kilgarrah was silent for a while, and then said, "She is also a Dragonlord, the last of the female line. Aithusa is her mount, and she has already hatched a young female, a sea dragon."

"She?"

"Your successor is a young woman."

"Oh!" Merlin was surprised. "She is an excellent swordswoman."

"So Aithusa told me. She is also a shapeshifter."

Merlin gave a short, bitter laugh. "So she really is exactly like me. No wonder I have no power anymore."

"Not entirely," Kilgarrah said slowly. "She is suspicious, and does not trust in her goodness of her friends. Her determination to be alone in her responsibilities will be her downfall, just as your kindness was yours."

"Arthur?" Merlin asked, his voice urgent. "Albion?"

"They will survive. I fear Freya will not. She has a heart of ice. It is undefeatable for a time, but it too much pressure is placed on it, it will shatter. She must learn to melt and flow, but that is something she can never teach herself."

Merlin shook his head. "As long as Arthur is safe, that's all I care for."

"Arthur is not everything, Merlin. There are other things -"

"Not for me. Not anymore. There's no one else left."

"Where shall I take you, my brother?" Kilgarrah, his old slow voice unusually gentle.

"I don't know," Merlin whispered. "I just want to go home."

Kilgarrah turned to face the north. "Then I will take you to the Isle of the Blessed. No one has gone there for centuries. There is still magic there, enough to sustain us. It will bring us both comfort as we fade."

Merlin nodded agreement. "Whatever you say. Are you going there too?"

"Our time is over. Both of us have no place. If you want me, I will stay with you."

"Yes, Kilgarrah. I want you. I don't want to be alone again."

They flew on in silence. Behind them, the sun rose, and the snowflakes danced in the wind, swirling down towards Camelot.

 **So, the usual notes. This is (obviously) a crossover with Discworld, and it also features a fairly obvious crossover with Doctor Who.**

 **This is a Freylin AU in that the episode 'The Lady of the Lake' did not happen and Freya is a distant descendant of Morgana, born in the future after Arthur rises, who came to Camelot and then was unfairly judged by Merlin and Arthur for her parentage after they had already gotten to know her. She ran away and Mordred found her, and she is the subject of druid prophecies that say she is destined to replace Emrys. She is also a dragonlord (because I don't like the idea of having no females be able to have dragon friends). Yes, that's a spoiler, but if you don't want to read the books before this, you need to know it. :)**


	2. Chapter 2

Freya glanced out of the windows as she hurried up the long staircase behind the King. It was starting to snow. She'd pulled the winter cold down from the north more strongly than she had thought.

They reached the doors into the throne room. There was already a cluster of druids around it. Avelina stepped forward to meet them.

"We are making the towers and upper halls secure. Nothing escaped through the tunnels. The last remnants of the invaders are inside." She nodded to the massive doors of the throne room.

Arthur turned to Freya. "What is waiting for us?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. I cannot see it." She frowned. "He has gone," she said, so softly that only Mordred, standing beside her, heard it.

There was a click. Everyone turned to look at the doors. They had opened slightly. Gwaine started forward, but Arthur caught his arm.

"It's probably a trap," he whispered. Gwaine shrugged.

"Better me than you."

Wulfric pushed his way through the crowd and stood on Freya's other side. He patted her on the shoulder. "Good work. Now, Emrys will probably be waiting for you on the other side of that door, so -"

"No. He's gone."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I feel - emptiness. He hurts." She touched the silver horse. "He's all alone, and it's killing him. I must find him."

"After you deal with this sorceress, yes."

Freya looked up and shoved her way to the doors, suddenly sick of the entire business and furiously impatient. She put a hand on each one and flung them wide, sweeping into the enormous hall with Mordred and Wulfric following hard on her heels.

The only sound was their soft footsteps and the click of her staff on the polished wood floor as she strode up the length of the hall towards the two people standing at the other end.

One of her persons was a young man in black armor. The other was a red-haired woman in a heavy black gown so covered in embroidery and jewels that, instead of being impressive, it was just faintly silly. Freya repressed a desire to giggle. That was Boffo, all right, done crudely and over the top, without any understanding of the way people thought.

She halted about ten feet away from them. "Who are you?" she asked.

The woman smiled. Her eyes glittered. "Melisende. My son," she added, indicating the knight.

"Oh, it's you," said Freya with interest as he lifted the visor of his helmet. "How's your hand now?"

He sneered at her. He had a good face for it. "Your silly tricks don't scare me. I know all about prophecy."

"What's that have to do with anything?"

He seemed daunted by this, so his mother took over. "Is Arthur here?"

"Of course." You know he is, Freya thought. Why ask?

"Are you his envoy?"

"I speak for those who have no voice."

"Then tell him this. We hold this kingdom. Together with our allies, we will open the gates to the heavens and build an empire that spans a thousand stars."

"Using magic? That won't work. You'll have to use mathematics."

"We will allow him to leave in peace once he signs an agreement of surrender. Go. Tell him."

You're not listening to me, Freya thought. You hear my voice, but you're not paying attention to the words. What you're saying isn't making much sense, either. What's really happening here? What are you planning? Her sense of suspicion began to sound the alarm deep inside her head. She could only think of one thing to say.

"Why?"

For the first time, the woman appeared to hear her. She blinked. "What? Because I say so, old man."

There was a muffled snort of laughter from Mordred. "Sorry," he muttered. Thankfully, no one else seemed to notice it.

Freya moved a step closer, and was pleased to see Nicholas flinch. "Where has Merlin gone?" she demanded coldly. "Bring him here."

"Emrys? He's useless. His time is over. There is a new guardian now." The woman was staring over her shoulder. "You really think that this Freya will be able to build Albion? She is a child. This kingdom doesn't need children and old men to guide it, or any close-minded boy king whose only qualifications for rule are his birth and once having pulled a sword from a stone. Any fool can do that if his muscles are strong enough."

"What about putting a sword into a stone?" said Freya quietly. Who did the woman think that she was if she didn't think that she was Freya? Then it hit her. She was dressed just like Wulfric and Mordred, and the three of them were standing together. Melisende must think that she's talking to the triumvirate, she thought. This woman is stupid. She's too interested in herself to be able to read other people. I may not interact with them well, but when I watch them, I can read the cues. She can't.

"That is easy too," Melisende snapped. "Go."

"I don't want to sound aggressive, but most of your army is dead," Freya objected calmly. "You're giving the orders, but you don't really have any power here."

"The toys from the Other Side? I expect they are dead. They were just fodder to distract this new girl. I expect she's out biting their throats as we speak." Melisende began to step down from the platform, holding her skirt out in front of her so she wouldn't step on it.

Good grief, that dress must weigh fifty pounds, Freya thought. But her Second Thoughts said, she's smiling. She wasn't a few seconds ago. Something's happened. Watch your back.

"It was so kind of Emrys to help me part the veil between the worlds," Melisende purred, or rather, would have purred if she could have without sounding like she had something wrong with her throat. "Of course, it needed a sacrifice. Poor Sir Roderick. But really, it needs someone special. A sorcerer would be best, a shapeshifter, even." She stopped.

Freya reacted a second too late. One moment the woman was standing in front of her, the next she had thrown them all to the ground and darted forward, dragging her son with her. She shot out an arm and grabbed one of the druids who had followed them into the throne room, pulling them to their feet. Mist swirled around them in a rising cloud, and then all three of them vanished.

"Who was it?" Freya shouted. "Who did she take?"

"It was Rose," said Avelina. "What are they going to do with her?"

"Something nasty," Freya snapped.

"Why does she want a shapeshifter?"

"Search me. Because we're all powerful? Maybe she needs that to -" Freya stopped, staring at nothing.

"Freya?" said Mordred.

"I know what she wants," Freya breathed. "That's evil."

"What is it?"

"She wants to become a god. Complete dominion over everything, everywhere. She wants -"

"She can't access the time vortex!" said the Doctor, pushing his way up to her. "It can't be done from here without a lot of fancy science equipment. You need a really big rip between the dimensions to -"

Freya held up a hand. "She has one. Lots of little doors, and one big door. One huge crack across space and time, a whole island compressed down into the thickness of a page. That's big enough to rip the planet apart if enough power is channeled through it."

"Where is it?" he demanded. "We have to find her!"

"I think I know. Anyway, Melisende barely has magic at all. She's using borrowed power from somewhere else. The doorway, probably. Or some unfortunate person with magic she's stolen it from."

"Not her! Rose!"

"Oh, right." Freya looked around. "Come one. We have to hurry. I think we'll have an even start with them. She can't have taken them far. They probably only got as far as wherever she's left her horses."

"Where are we going?" Avelina asked as they ran out of the throne room, the other shapeshifters and Arthur trailing behind them.

"The place where the time doesn't fit! Thank you, Tiffany!" Freya said exultantly.

0000

She buried her face in Blaze's mane as the horse raced along the track, following Avelina and Andrei, who were running ahead of them in wolf form, following Melisende. They'd picked up her scent immediately outside the castle gates. It was going in exactly the direction Freya had expected.

Alongside her, Stian was matching Blaze's pace, and just behind them, the other shapeshifters were catching up. Behind them, Arthur and his knights were hurrying after them, but their slow battlehorses couldn't keep up with the special Guardian horses.

"What's she going to use her for?" Mordred demanded.

"I think she still thinks that people have to be sacrificed to do proper magic. She might need to. I mean, her natural power is so weak that she might need the atmosphere of a sacrifice to concentrate hard enough."

"But why Rose? Why not any druid?"

"I noticed one thing - Rose was the closest shapeshifter to her. I think any one of us would have done."

"We're both shapeshifters, and we were right in front of her," he objected.

"She thought we were the triumvirate. She didn't even realize who I was."

"You know where she's going." It wasn't a question.

"Yes. At least, I'm pretty sure."

"But why one of us?" Mordred went back to his original question.

"I think it's something to do with how we can wear different bodies," Freya said slowly. "Remember how Sauron could make himself look like anything, and he could put parts of himself into things? I think she needs a slave who can hold something that can only be held in a living container."

"Like what?"

"The time vortex, maybe?"

"What is that, anyway? You and the Doctor seemed to know all about it."

"It's . . . It's . . . I'm not sure how to describe it. It's like how people draw timelines, right? Long lines with little markers when important things happened? Well, I think that the time vortex is the timeline of the universe. If you can get inside it, you can travel up and down the line and stop whenever you want to. And once you're inside, you can potentially control time. Omnipotence. It's dangerous."

"But what is there to be held, then?"

"I think that it generates a special kind of magic all its own. We can react more safely with it than other people because we can turn ourselves into the kind of creatures who can travel in the vortex." She frowned. "I dream of them sometimes. They're like clams, who grow shells around themselves, and then can make their own cracks in the world and fade into the vortex and close the cracks safely after themselves. There's a world somewhere where the people learned to tame them, and even ride inside them. I think we all come from there, a long time ago. Perhaps a few of them settled here once."

"Who is we?"

"I think it is us really powerful sorcerers. Not necessarily all shapeshifters. There is something that I'm not seeing. Please don't ask me any more. It's all so muddled up that I don't know if I'm right."

"Are you still getting extra memories?"

"Yes, but it's even worse now. I know things that no one from here could know."

0000

Avelina and Andrei led them straight to the Crystal Cave. Two horses were tethered outside it, pulling nervously at their halters and breathing hard.

"I was right," said Freya, sliding off Blaze's back. Mordred looked around.

"Where are the dragons?" he asked.

"I told them to stay behind. There could be other soldiers." And I don't want them getting hurt if something odd happens here, she thought. We're all replaceable, but they're the last of their kind. She reached out and caught the Doctor's hand as he tried to push past her into the cave entrance. "No. Rushing in could get us all killed. There is a balance of very powerful forces down there. Follow me and don't do anything until I give the signal."

She entered the cave, hurrying through the round room humming with power with her eyes almost closed to avoid the visions that had burned into her memory the second she stepped in: an island, surrounded by fog, crowned with the crumbling remains of buildings, and in the center of a green square, a block of stone that looked unpleasantly like an altar. There was a golden cup on it, handleless and unadorned.

Once she was in the long sloping tunnel that led down to the crypt where she had woken up in the spring, she relaxed a little. Her friends following her were soundless, and the crystals were now blank and dim. Their approach should be easier than she had expected. There was much less light than there had been before.

They came creeping down the rough tunnel to the big cold cavern where the sparkling stream leapt from ledge to ledge in flowing starlight - or at least, it had done when Freya had been there before. Now it looked like a torrent of lava racing down into the earth. Freya stopped, startled. It looked like the whole cavern was on fire.

No, that can't be true, she thought after a few terrified seconds. Can you smell anything burning, any smoke? No? I thought not. It's just light reflecting off the water in the air and the crystals. It's like a rainbow.

She opened her eyes again and looked across the wide space, searching for the strange place that had been both a way out and a pile of rubble, and saw it instantly. It was unmissable now, because it was a glowing white-hot mouth, like the hottest forge in the universe. Tendrils of golden energy were leaking out of it, hissing and whispering in the cold air.

Freya closed her eyes again and listened to the voices. They were from the past and from the future - all the futures. If you learned to pick them apart, untangle the threads, you could know everything that had ever been heard, every voice and every noise. But all together, it was the sound of time, and it would drive you mad after just a few seconds.

She crept closer to the burning doorway. Mordred was right on her heels, and the Doctor was pacing her. She couldn't see Sophie or Jenny, so they were definitely there, and most certainly equipped with a surprising amount of deadly weaponry. Avelina was a dim shape in the gloom, her ears pricked and her legs ready to leap forward, and Andrei was a shadow more apparent to the nose than the eyes. Being blond had quite a lot of disadvantages, especially for a shapeshifter.

Melisende was standing to one side of the doorway. Nicholas was on the other, holding Rose with a dagger at her throat. She looked strangely calm.

"Don't!" Freya breathed as she held the Doctor back. "It's too dangerous to disturb them now. Can't you feel it? Whatever is about to happen must happen."

He stopped dead, breathing hard. In the dim light, his brown eyes looked black as he turned to her. "Yes. I feel it now. This time is -" He fished for a word, and came up with "- fixed."

Freya nodded in agreement.

Melisende lowered her hands and stopped chanting. Her voice had barely been audible anyway over the sounds of Time pouring through the crack, but it was a relief when she stopped. Freya wasn't sure why she had been using a spell. This kind of magic was very definitely not the rabbit-and-glitter kind, and spells would be about as useful in the face of it as a tent in a hurricane. It was too basic. Elemental.

She bit her lip. That word again. It had been popping up her head a lot over the last few days, especially after she had realized in front of the castle gates that she didn't need to be frightened of the storm, that she could tame it and ride it, that deep inside her, she was kin to the wind and the ice just like she was kin to the dragons.

Melisende nodded to her son, and he pushed Rose forward, so that she stumbled into the rippling doorway and vanished.

Freya felt the Doctor freeze beside her. He was too upset to even move. She took advantage of this to flit away from him and take cover behind the last stalagmite of any size between herself and the doorway. Whatever would happen now, she had to be there to guide it. She was the witch, after all. She guarded the edges and the doorways, she reminded herself, feeling slightly hysterical.

There was a stirring in the fire of the doorway, and Rose reappeared, stumbling through the blazing light with her head down and her eyes closed. Melisende threw back her head and laughed in triumph, and it was a proper megalomaniacal laugh, one that bounced off the walls and drilled into the ears.

"See! She is a much better vessel than your father!" she said triumphantly. "He was devoured by the flames. This girl can hold them inside her."

"When will you make me immortal, mother?" Nicholas demanded impatiently. She turned to him and flung her arms wide.

"I see no reason to wait. Step forward, my son, and receive your reward."

As Nicholas moved a little closer to Rose, Melisende looked at Rose and snapped, "Give him immortality!"

Rose stirred. The light from the doorway faded slightly and then shone out again. The coils of white light wound around her, caressing her hair and seeming to support her, holding her up.

Nicholas looked angry. "Nothing's happening," he whined.

Rose looked up. Her eyes were still closed. Freya saw that a golden glow was burning beneath her skin. Then Rose opened her eyes, and they were burning too, echoes of the doorway. But somehow, she did not feel dangerous. She felt - fierce.

"No."

The word had strange harmonics to it, and her voice bounced back and forth across the crystal walls.

"I command you! You are completely in my power!" Melisende said angrily.

"You are nothing. I see everything. You are tiny."

"What's happening?" Nicholas said, glaring at his mother. "You promised me! You said I'd be a prince!"

Melisende slapped him across the face. "Stop complaining! It's not important. She's obviously smarter than you are." She turned back to Rose, who was staring into space with an awestruck gaze. "Rewrite time. Put this land back where it belongs. Make me the eternal ruler of it. I command you!" She followed this up with a spell. Freya vaguely recognized it as one that was supposed to make the recipient lose their will.

Rose turned her burning gaze on the sorceress in front of her. "Eternal? Nothing is eternal. Everything must come to dust. All things. Everything dies."

"I command you!" Melisende screamed.

Mordred rose up behind Nicholas and caught him by the throat, holding the boy easily as he gasped for air. "It's over, Melisende. You're beaten. Give up or I'll kill him."

She threw a contemptuous glance at her son. "Go on, then," she said. Nicholas looked shocked, and tried to say something, but Mordred's arm was locked around his throat and he could barely breathe.

"This war ends," said Rose. Her arms came up, slowly, reaching out to her sides. "I see your army, ready to break through. They must not be. You must not be."

Melisende dissolved gently into golden light. For an instant, the dust hung in the air in the shape of a woman, and then it crumbled into a heap of white powder on the floor. Rose stayed there, her arms outstretched.

No one moved.

Freya got up slowly. She faced Rose.

"What can you see?" she asked.

"Everything. All that is, all that was, all that ever could be."

Freya moved closer. Rose watched her as if from a long way away. Her hands fell to her sides. "Let me take it. You don't know how to let go, do you?"

"No," Rose whispered. "It hurts."

Freya reached out and touched Rose's forehead with her fingertips, and felt her mind, overloaded and burning under the power of the vortex, and for a second, she was absolutely terrified. It was so hot.

Wait. It's all about balance, isn't it? Tiffany taught you that too. Take the pain and let it flow through you, never touching you, out into something else. You don't have to be scared of the fire. You're in the cave. All around you is ice and rain. Use it.

Freya gently took the flow of the vortex from Rose's mind. She caught her as she fell backwards and let her lie on the cold stone floor. Then she straightened up.

She could see everything. What was more, it didn't hurt. She could control it. She could control everything.

I could do so much good. So many bad things could have never happened. I can correct them all.

" 'The more power a person has, and the more knowledge of the future, the more badly they can mess it up,' " said a voice inside her head, a memory.

Freya turned her mind away. He wouldn't have done it. She shouldn't, either. But there was something that needed doing, and right now, she was strong enough to do it. She looked down on the grey and white world, and saw the pollution and the slime disappear. Oh, they had all still happened, but now they had vanished in a second. And she saw, and felt in her bones, a gentle twist and thump as an island appeared, sparkling in the blue sea, in the place where Brittania had been on those old maps.

Oh yes. There was one more thing, wasn't there? No one had ever been able to understand why Rose and the Doctor were shapeshifters. Magic didn't run in either of their families. That would be easy enough. Freya went to make sure they could, and smiled to herself when she realized that Rose had already done it. She'd created herself. That could make your head spin - at least, back in the normal world, where time was not sphere-shaped.

Then she turned around, faced the doorway, and let it all go back.

 **If you recognize some of the dialogue, it's from the totally amazing episode of Doctor Who called 'The Parting of the Ways'. I suspect the creation of Bad Wolf is a constant across all parallel universes. This is how it happened in this one.**


	3. Chapter 3

Someone was leaning over her. She could sense it. In the dim crystal light, she saw Sophie bending over her, her hazel eyes full of worry.

"Are you all right? You were on fire!"

Freya blinked. The feeling of supreme power was gone, and so were the memories. That was a relief. Of course, it meant that now she'd have to learn a lot of things, but at least that way she'd know why she knew them.

Sophie helped her sit up.

"Why is everything cloudy?" Freya asked dazedly.

"That's the steam. You did something when you closed the doorway. I don't know how to describe it." And, human nature being what it is, she tried to do just that. "It looked a bit like putting a coal into a bucket of water, but on a much bigger scale."

The cavern was full of curling wisps of steam. The stone was warm to the touch now.

"Oh, that was just what Tiffany always talks about. Moving heat from the fire into something else? It's easy, really, if you get the balance right."

Freya shook her head and looked around. The Doctor had picked Rose up and was carrying her back out of the cavern. Mordred was still holding Nicholas. Jenny was nowhere to be seen.

She twisted around and looked up at the arch. It was just a pile of rubble now, but beyond it, she could see daylight. Real daylight. "So it really was an exit all along, but there was a big crack in the world there too," she said thoughtfully. "I saw what was really there the last time I was here. It's nice to know I wasn't insane."

"Is Rose going to be all right?" Sophie looked a little less worried, but she was still frowning.

"She should be. I took over before the power could do her any real damage."

"You've done it, kelda," said Mordred, beaming at her. She could feel his smile even through the mask.

"Done what?" She was puzzled.

"Closed the doors. Put us back in the proper world. You've done what no one else could."

"Are we really back in the real world?" said Arthur, stepping out of the shadows. Everyone jumped.

"Where did you come from?" Sophie demanded. He waved a hand.

"I came in while you were all watching that witch push her into the fire. So what's happened? It felt like everything turned inside out for a second."

"Everything did," said Freya. "Or rather, it turned right side out again."

There was a blur of movement. Nicholas straightened up and twisted out of Mordred's slackened grip. He lunged towards Arthur, aiming the dagger he had wrested from Mordred at the King's heart.

Before he could reach Arthur, Mordred had flung himself on top of the boy and they both crashed to the ground, struggling for the dagger. Although Mordred was stronger, Nicholas was more used to that kind of fighting, and neither of them was winning. Sparks flew up from the stone as the dagger struck it.

Arthur reached down and grabbed Nicholas, hauling him up by one arm and spinning him so that it was pinned behind him. "Stop struggling," he growled. "Or you'll break your arm."

"Here," said Jenny, dropping lightly down from the ceiling and holding out a length of strong rope. "Tie him up. You might want to hit him first. He bites."

As Arthur looked puzzled, her hand flew out and there was a thump as it hit the side of Nicholas' head. He sagged, this time genuinely unconscious.

"Sorry about that, my lord, but we don't want him trying to assassinate you again," she said bluntly, picking a piece of dark cloth out of the boy's hands and expertly tying them behind his back.

Freya caught her breath and looked down at Mordred, still kneeling. Nicholas had tugged his mask off in the fight. He looked up at her, a question in his eyes.

She flung back her own hood and took off her mask, shaking out her braid and feeling the cooler air hit her face. It felt wonderful. Mordred smiled a tight little smile and slowly pushed back his own hood. He stood up, still facing her, and so not facing Arthur. He sheathed his dagger, which Nicholas had dropped when Arthur had twisted his arm.

The King looked up and saw her. His face went white, as far as she could tell in the unsteady light. She gave him a little wave. It was silly, but it was the only thing she could think of.

"I'm not dead," she said.

"Cottia?" he spluttered. "But I saw you - I felt you - you were dead. I know how dead people look, and you were -"

"Immortal," she finished firmly. "It's a special burden some people are chosen for, once in every age of the world. Why are you so shocked? It happens."

"You did all that?" He looked at the doorway.

"Yes."

"And you opened the gates? And killed the army?"

"Yes."

"And were practically ruling the druids?"

"Well, yes. They all listen to me because they think I'm wise."

"And are you?"

"I am . . . I am made older than my years, and I'm not," she said, touching the silver horse. Her silver horse. Hadn't she earned it by now? She didn't know exactly how Tiffany had felt when she kissed the Wintersmith, but probably after all the excitement had died down, she'd felt something like this - light-headed, spinning, reckless, and slightly depressed. What was left for her? She'd fulfilled her 'destiny'.

"Why the cloak and stuff?" Arthur's voice jolted her back to the present.

"Oh, that was so you'd see what you wanted."

Mordred was looking at her. She knew he was frightened. She took a step forward, grabbed his hand, and turned him to face the King.

"He said he was sorry," she said forcefully to the staring Arthur. "Yes, it's Mordred. He came back to life. He isn't a threat to you anymore. He just saved your life." She could see Avelina behind him, her teeth just visible in the beginning of a snarl, and her hackles up.

"Mordred," said Arthur.

Mordred bowed his head. "What can I say? I am sorry."

Arthur blinked and turned away. "Well, if you want to be a druid, that's fine by me. Now, shouldn't we get out of here? It's rather stuffy." He strode out of the cavern.

0000

The clouds were blowing away when she emerged out under the sky again, but big soft snowflakes were still swirling down lazily from the dove-grey horizon. The knights had arrived, and took charge of Nicholas. The shapeshifters had clustered together around the Doctor and Rose, who was beginning to stir.

"Excellent!" said Wulfric, appearing out of the shadows to stand beside Freya. "I was too late to witness your work, but I felt it. You did wonderfully. There is barely a scar left from the joining of the worlds. And I'm sure that the King will trust you both when he recovers from the shock of knowing you are both alive."

"Thank you," she answered, staring at the King as he issued orders to his men. She touched the curl of hair that always worked its way out of her braid, no matter how tightly Avelina braided it in, and hung down beside her cheek. Depending on the weather, it was either long and wavy, or short and curled up like a frizzy corkscrew. Today, it was frizzy and long. The snow was messing it up. It was also almost the exact shade of Arthur's hair. No one could question that she was his niece now. But would he want her?

Did she even want to go back to an empty home? She'd changed that future. A little flicker of uncertainty stirred inside her. He'd gone. She knew he wasn't in the castle. Where had he gone, and why?

"Now you must be on your guard," Wulfric continued. "I fear that Emrys will not approve of what you have done. He will be hunting you. What is it, child?"

The sound and smell of rain on grass. He weighed hardly anything as she held him close, and the dragon smell was all around her. There was warmth around her, too, but inside her there was ice. Even the tears were freezing inside her, and nothing she could do would make them melt and flow.

"I don't think he will. I think he is - dying." She nearly whispered the last word, and turned abruptly towards Blaze. "I must go to him."

"Where are you going, kelda?" Mordred was standing beside her, and instead of the usual half-respectful and gently half-mocking inflection he put on the word, there was real warmth and worry.

She looked down at him from Blaze's high back and forced a smile. "Where the road takes me I cannot tell." And with that, she touched the reins and galloped away.

0000

When had she last slept? Properly slept, without getting rained on or tripped over or woken up by someone needing her somewhere else right now? It had been days. She yawned. She didn't even know where she was going. All she had was a feeling. She turned Blaze to the north as they climbed out of the Valley of the Fallen Kings. Now that the doorway in the Crystal Cave was closed, there was one other place where magic was strong. It was somewhere to the north. She had to find it, quickly, before it was too late, and give back what she had not known she had been stealing.


	4. Chapter 4

It was mid-morning of the next day when she stood on the shore of the misty lake, staring out across dark water to the crumbling castle on the island. She'd seen it in the crystals. This must be the place. There was an ancient wooden rowboat in the water beside a decrepit dock, but there were no oars. She sat down gingerly in the boat. Her eyes flashed golden. It began to cut through the water.

The boat stopped itself at a flight of steep stairs. Freya reached out, took a firm grip on a projecting stone, and scrambled inelegantly out of the wobbly boat. As soon as she was on dry land, it began to glide away again as noiselessly as it had come.

She looked up at what was left of the towers and shivered. There was power here like there was in the Cave, but this place felt like fear and despair. Something strong and good had once been here, but it had been driven away by madness.

Oh, don't be silly. It's just old and damp and you're tired. Don't get melodramatic.

She waved a hand in front of her face to distract herself. Merlin. You're here for Merlin. Don't get sidetracked. She began to run.

There was a wide space in the center of all the buildings, covered in green grass regardless of season. There was a stone block that looked like an altar in the center of it, with the golden cup placed neatly in its center.

And filling most of one of the biggest entrances was an enormous dragon. Its scales were greenish bronze, and it was easily large enough to fill the courtyard in the castle at Camelot. As she watched it warily, it opened orange eyes and regarded her thoughtfully.

"You are the one who can take away pain," he said. His voice was slow and thoughtful. Time echoed in every nuance of it. He's thousands of years old, she thought. He must be the old one Aithusa talks about.

"Can I?" she asked, and realized they were speaking in Human.

"In this case, you are the only one who can." He moved one of his front legs aside, opening his curled claws.

Freya ran forward. Merlin was lying on the ground, sheltered from the wind and the cold off the water by the dragon's wings. She knelt beside him on the grass and shook him desperately.

"Not even the Cup of Life can save him," said the dragon. "It does not work on immortals when they decide their time is over. They just - linger. For thousands of years, if they must, until someone with the power to give them their last wish comes."

"Merlin," said Freya. "Merlin, wake up. Look. I'm not dead, really, I'm not." She glared up at the dragon. "What's wrong with him?"

"You are his successor. You have been taking his place, cutting him off from the land. He has felt it supporting him all his life. Now it has gone. He has no strength left."

"Can't we share it?"

"Certainly. You must give it back to him." The dragon blinked slowly. Somehow, he seemed to be smiling. "That is why you came, isn't it, Freya Pendragon? You would never kill a helpless opponent. Every light has darkness to balance it."

"I wouldn't kill him even if he was trying to kill me!" she said hotly. "In fact, he did, and I didn't even fight back! So there!"

"I did not say you would. Nor did I say that you were the darkness," the dragon said with infuriating calm.

"I came to - look, what's your name?"

"Kilgarrah."

"Right. I just want to make him better, all right? He's your person, isn't he? How can you object to that?"

"That is an unusual way of putting it, but yes. We have known each other for many years. The world would be an empty place without him."

"Yes," she said softly. "So how do I?"

"I do not know," said Kilgarrah. "He is fading. If you wish to save him, you cannot ever be as powerful again as you are now. You must share the power. You must learn to work together. It is not a task to be undertaken lightly."

"But if we share the power, that means we share the responsibility, too," said Freya. "Doesn't it?"

It was beginning to rain. Kilgarrah blinked again and was silent. His wings rustled as he shrugged.

Freya sat down and pulled Merlin across her lap, holding him tightly with both arms, his head resting on her shoulder. He was much lighter than he had been before. "I'm here," she whispered. "What do I do now? You can't die. I don't know what to do. I need you."

Kilgarrah stretched slightly and covered them with his wings, shielding them from the sudden downpour. The comforting dragon smell surrounded her, and so did the drumming of the rain. She yawned uncontrollably and leaned back against the dragon's warm scales. What could she do? How could she give it back to him?

"You just can't die," she pleaded as the rain poured down around them. His hair was wet already, and it was making her shoulder damp, but she didn't care. She screwed her eyes shut as tightly as she could, trying unsuccessfully to keep the tears in. "I thought I'd stopped this one," she whispered, burying her face in his hair. It smelled of cedar and dragon. "I thought I'd changed the future. You're Emrys and I'm Freya, but we don't have to fight. I thought this was what would happen if we did, not what is happening now that we haven't."

He was so still, so cold, and the coldness seemed to reach inside her, trapping all feelings inside her under a sheet of solid ice. She could barely feel his heartbeat when she pressed her fingers to his neck. She tugged angrily at her cloak, trying to wrap it around as much of both of them as possible.

"Please. Take it back. I don't want it." She hesitated, and closed her eyes, feeling his hair tickling her cheeks. "I will diminish, and go into the West, and remain - myself. This I choose to do."

0000

Merlin dreamed.

He was flying, hovering over the land. He felt it supporting him. He looked down on the castle, and saw the twinkle of the sun on the helmets of the guards, and tiny people and horses moving through the streets. It was at peace.

He drifted closer and downwards, over the town and over the courtyard of the castle. Arthur was walking down the steps. A lady was standing in the square, holding a tall grey horse that looked slightly too big for her. She had long braided blond hair just a little bit darker than Arthur's. She was wearing boy's clothes. They were black.

Two children were trailing behind the King. Merlin recognized them as the little girls he had dreamed of once before, just after he had buried Cottia in the Crystal Cave. They looked older now, six or seven. The dark-skinned white-haired girl was skipping down the steps, following Arthur while holding up her dress to keep herself from tumbling down the stairs. He turned just as she stumbled and caught her by the arm, swinging her up and holding her against his shoulder. She laughed.

The other girl, the one with black hair, was following the first one closely. She had darted forward when she fell, but Arthur had caught her first. Now she ran down the stairs ahead of him and over to the lady with the horse. The horse lowered his head and snuffled at her while the lady stroked her hair in an affectionate but absentminded way. A little dragon, about the size of a terrier, padded down the stairs and twined around the girl's legs. It was the color of fire.

Merlin's eyes were drawn back to the lady. She was wearing all black. She's wearing midnight, he thought, and then wondered why he had thought that. It had the feel of a quotation to it. And then he heard the sound that had been trickling into his mind for some time now, and he realized that someone was singing. They had a rather nice voice, if a little thin.

" 'And when you lay down on your final word,

'It will be no comfort to me.

'I have lived by the pen and I'll die by the sword

'When it's time to set me free.

'Why don't you write me a gallant knight,

'And wear your honor and sword,

'And I will wear these aching, heartbreaking years,

'Till one day, I shall wear midnight.' "

Who was that? The voice sounded familiar.

The land beneath him dropped away and faded into whiteness. It wasn't fog, or clouds. It was just emptiness. The land was still there, though. He felt it again. It was there, steadying him, allowing him to use its power, just like it had always been.

He smiled, and the dream faded into sleep.

0000

He woke up. He was lying on his side. Someone had their arms around him. He couldn't see who it was. They were behind him. In fact, his head was resting on one of their arms. The other was around his chest, holding him tightly. A black cloak was draped over both of them, and they were still being sheltered by Kilgarrah. It was raining.

He lifted his head. He felt alive again. Whatever had been draining his power from him was gone. He sat up and turned to look at his companion.

Merlin sat and stared for a long while before reaching out to touch her cheek. A wisp of curling golden hair was lying on it, and he brushed it aside. It had changed color from when he had seen her last. It had lost some of its reddish tint, and now it was nearly the same shade as Arthur's. And Morgause's, whispered a treacherous thought deep inside his head.

Why shouldn't it be? he answered. She is related to her.

This must be what death is. Isn't it? He looked up at the dragon, and then out at the rain-filled courtyard. It all seemed very much as when he had last seen it. The only difference was the impossibility of her.

"She is sleeping. Do not wake her. She has done many things in the last few days," Kilgarrah said quietly. Merlin started.

"Aren't we dead?" he said.

"No, Merlin. We are alive."

"But - but - she's here. Cottia's here."

"Yes. And she is alive, also."

"But she died! I felt her die. I killed her."

"She is like you. She cannot truly die unless it is by your hand, and only then when it is a test of your magic against hers."

Merlin stared down at Freya. He noticed that she had a necklace now, a little silver thing that looked like what the movement of a galloping horse was. And just below it, fastened to the same chain, was the crystal rosebud he had made for her and placed in her hands.

"She's the new sorcerer?" he asked.

"Yes."

"But you said she was a Dragonlord, and a shapeshifter, and I saw her fighting alongside Arthur . . ." He remembered that little reflex, the one he had only ever seen in the Pendragon family.

"Yes. She has grown up."

"And you said she had a heart of ice."

"So she does. Be gentle with her. The heat of the summer can easily kill the winter."

Merlin wrapped the cloak around her again, tucking her outstretched arms into it. She rolled over onto her back and opened her eyes slightly. "Why?" she murmured.

"I don't know," he answered softly, putting a hand on her forehead. "It was rather a cruel thing to do, wasn't it?"

She smiled and her hand came up to touch the silver horse. Then her eyes closed again and her breathing told him she was asleep.

Merlin lit a fire in a sheltered place in one of the old buildings, and carried Freya into the little dry oasis, settling her down on the soft sand. Then he sat down on the other side of the fire and watched her through the flames.

So you're the one who's been taking my power and listening to my memories, he thought. And you're the one who Arthur trusts now. But then you came here to find me, and instead of killing me while I couldn't fight back, you gave me back my position, and you fell asleep holding me in your arms. Why? Don't you hate me for what I did?

"I don't understand," he said aloud. "Morgana would have killed me." He hesitated, looking at the way the firelight shone on her hair. "But you're not really like her, are you? The inner you isn't. The real you, not the shell. You're more like Arthur. You know how to forgive."

 **The quoted lyrics are from We Shall Wear Midnight by Steeleye Span.**


	5. Chapter 5

Freya uncurled and yawned, and resisted the impulse to wash behind her ears. Then she noticed where she was. She looked straight across a little campfire into Merlin's eyes. She sat up.

"Did it work?" she asked urgently.

"Did what work?"

"You're not, you know . . . dead?"

"I am very much alive, thank you."

She stared at him. "I didn't do it. At least, I suppose I did, but I didn't know it."

"What?"

"Putting everyone to sleep. It wasn't me. It was Melisende, working through her daughter. I think she was scared of me and wanted me out of the way."

Merlin shrugged. "I know it wasn't you. Where have you been all this time?"

"With the druids. They taught me things. History and genealogies." She looked reproachfully at him. "Why didn't you tell me? You must have known. How long did you know?"

He looked away. "Since you got your bracelet," he said, poking the fire with a long twig.

"Oh." She was silent for a while, and then said, "They told me right away. They have books, you know. And I'm a Dragonlord. Like you?" The question was uncertain.

"Yes."

"I have an egg, but it's not mine. I think it's yours."

"What do you mean?"

"I can't connect with it. It's too fiery. I don't do fire. I'm scared of it."

His eyebrows rose a little. "You're scared of it?"

She nodded. Maybe she really had grown up. She would have never admitted fear so bluntly before.

"And they gave me lots of books of spells, and I learned them all," she said, gazing at him anxiously. "I didn't complain. I gave back the power of time, too. I thought that maybe I could fix things so that there weren't any portals and Arthur didn't die and you didn't have to be alone for a thousand years, but then I remembered you saying that that was a bad thing no matter how attractive it sounded, so I didn't. But I did put this world back in place and closed the doors. I think it needed to be. I cleaned up the pollution, too. We have a nice clean planet to work with, and I think it's Albion." She said all this in a rush, and now she was looking hopeful and worried and slightly frightened, like a dog who had just done a trick and is now waiting to see if he will be praised or chased off. "Did I do the right thing?"

Merlin watched her in detached curiosity. "Why do you ask? You're the guardian now. You don't have to ask me about anything."

Freya felt the coldness come back. She blinked, and swallowed hard, trying to keep the desolation and the apprehension out of her voice. "But I don't know what to do. You know more than I do."

"So? That doesn't matter. Nimueh knew more than I did when I took over. It's just how these things work. Will you promise me something?"

"Yes," she said uncertainly. He looked distant.

"Look after Arthur, will you? He needs someone to remind him to listen once in a while."

"Of course I will, but why will I have to?"

"There's no one else, is there?"

"But there's you!"

"Well, I'm not always going to be here, am I?" He stood up. "Please, just make it quick."

She stood up too. "I don't understand," she said, understanding but refusing to acknowledge it. How could he possibly want to die now? Hadn't she given it all back? Hadn't she healed him?

"This is your time now. I have no place." He smiled at her, and she felt the frozen tears begin to thaw. "You have to get rid of me before I become a nuisance."

She hardly realized that she was clutching the silver horse. How could she kill him now? She'd done so much to ensure that she wouldn't have to. Anyway, what good would it really do? Would it take the hollow look out of Arthur's eyes? Would it give her her family back? No, it wouldn't. Merlin was the closest thing to a real family that she had ever had, the only person to take an interest in her for her self, not because she was talented, female, or surrounded by an aura of destiny.

What would Tiffany have done? What would Galadriel have done, or Gandalf?

'Do not be too eager to deal out death in judgement.' She remembered him reading that to her. Gandalf had said it, and he had been right.

Morgana would have killed him just for trying to poison her. In fact, I know she tried several times, Freya thought. But I'm not like her. I won't be like her. I'm different. I speak for those with no voice, and right now, he has none, and it is even worse for him than for anyone else, because he used to be like me.

"I don't want to fight you," she said, staring him directly in the eyes across the fire. "I refuse to fight you. Even if you try to fight me, I will not defend myself. There is a better way."

"What is that?"

"We can share it. The land is strong enough for two. Albion is much larger than Camelot. Why can't we work together?"

He looked down. "Don't you hate me? I killed you. At least, I tried. I was not a good person that day. You shouldn't trust me. I'm too dangerous for you. For everyone."

Suddenly she was beside him, her arms around his waist, clinging to him. "I don't care!" she said viciously. "I know what you knew you had to protect, and you did the right thing. I just want to go home." The sentence ended in a sob. "Please? I missed you so much. I'm sorry for thinking Arthur was a bully. I'm sorry for everything."

He looked down at her. She was just tall enough for the top of her head to be level with the top of his shoulder, and she had settled into it like she had always belonged there. Without really thinking about it, he put his arms around her and kissed her hair. "I missed you too," he said softly. "And you have nothing to be sorry for. It's me who needs to apologize to you, even though I'm not sure an apology can ever make up for trying to murder you. But I am sorry, Cottia. Truly."

"It does. Now stop worrying about it and start realizing that nobody is going to die today."

He smiled, and this time it was a smile of genuine happiness. "It's nice to know that you haven't changed."

"What do you mean?" Her voice was muffled.

"You're still prickly."

"Oh. Sorry. I don't do fairy tales. They don't make sense."

"Coming from you, I find that highly ironic. You're the one who practically tries to live inside stories."

"Yes, but only the ones that make sense. They have to have rules and consequences and nonnegotiable right and wrong. The ones where nothing bad ever happens and no one ever dies because the universe is full of miracles aren't real. They don't make sense. They aren't believable. They're just - stories. But the ones where the characters are tempted and lied to and manipulated and given hard choices and have to face their own death or the death of people they care for - those are the ones that stay in the mind. And in the heart. Those are the ones that linger in fragments of sentences and names and bits of poetry. They're the ones that make real life richer."

Merlin looked at her, startled. She had spoken with so much sudden passion. He couldn't see her face, but she was holding on to him so tightly that it hurt. "The story that we have been part of will live long in the minds of men," he said. "That's what Kilgarrah told me when Arthur died. It was true. That story was passed on and told to generations of people through the centuries, and it's what eventually brought you here. The power of a story. That's magic in itself."

"I know."

"Could you let go of me? I can't breathe. Thanks." He sat down again. She sat beside him, her legs crossed under her, supporting her chin on her hands. She stared into the fire.

"Kilgarrah called you Freya," he said after a peaceful silence.

"Yes. That's what the druids call me. It's fine by me."

"Are you using that name now?"

She shrugged. "More or less. Mostly more. Everyone from Camelot uses it now too."

"All right."

"You can still call me Cottia if you want to," she said hurriedly. "I mean, I call you Merlin, not Emrys."

"Names are strange things," he mused. He glanced at her sideways. "How did you call me back? I felt the land returning. It was weird."

"I don't know." She scowled ferociously at the fire. "I just wished really hard and took the responsibility, I suppose."

"Did you use a spell or something? That kind of concentration needs a focus, even for us."

Her cheeks flushed a delicate pink. She looked a little nervous and defiant. "Not exactly. The feelings were all off, and so was the balance. I would have used a proper one if one had fit, but my way worked better."

He nudged her shoulder. "What song was it?"

"Not a song. There's not enough power there. A story. Two stories. Galadriel and Tiffany."

"Galadriel I know, but who is Tiffany?"

"Remember I told you about the book about the little girl who decided to be a witch and stole her brother back from the Queen of the Fairies? That's Tiffany. I found that her story continued. She is a lot like me, but very different too. We both have to help people who don't trust us or understand us, and fight monsters that are mostly in people's heads. I met her during the summer for a few minutes. She's real."

"You keep touching your necklace."

Freya looked down at it, startled. "She gave it to me. It used to be hers, part of who she was. Now she knows who she is. She has the respect of her people, and Preston, and she even wears midnight now like all witches instead of the colors of the Chalk. She doesn't need tokens to be herself anymore, because she can be herself without them."

"Was that you singing?" Merlin asked. Her words had dredged up the memory of his dream. He looked at her intently. Yes, there was a definite resemblance. "Something about dying and writing and midnight?"

"I didn't know you heard me," she muttered. "I didn't know what to do. I had to balance it all, and that made it easier."

"You have a nice voice."

"Do I?"

"It was a sad song, though."

"Not really." She looked at him for a moment. "It ends with, 'Till one day, we shall wear midnight'. In context, it means that one day Tiffany will find someone to share her burdens with. It was written about her. A whole album was written about her, mostly about the time she danced with the spirit of Winter and temporarily became the Summer Lady."

"Oh," was the only thing Merlin could think of to say. Her tone had switched from envious longing to an encyclopedia in a heartbeat.

"I liked the Wintersmith," was her next observation. "He wasn't human and didn't understand emotions, but he was forced to live in a human world. I know how he felt."

A heart of ice. He put a hand on her cheek and turned her face towards him. Her eyes were the color of snow clouds. He'd never noticed that before. "You're not a monster," he said softly. "You are human. You are worth it. I wouldn't be here if you didn't understand what it means to be human."

She wasn't even breathing.

"I mean it. You're a good person. You have a good heart."

"Do you really think so?" she asked.

"Yes."

"You act like you do." The color was flooding back into her face now. "No one ever has. Everyone is always scared of me. Now everyone is too polite. They don't treat me like a person."

"I know how it feels."

0000

They sat in silence for a very long time. The shadows of the buildings were long when they stirred.

"I suppose we should go somewhere," Freya said uneasily.

"Where?"

"Camelot?"

"I can't go back."

"Why not?"

"I let the soldiers in. That's treason. I doubt that Arthur will want me back in any case. He trusted me before."

"Don't be stupid. He misses you horribly."

"How do you know?"

"He looks sad when he thinks no one is watching."

Merlin stared at the fire, feeling her intent gaze on him. That was something that people did when they were upset. He'd never been sure how two-sided his friendship with Arthur was; it was hard to tell when they couldn't formally just be friends. He did know that Arthur believed very firmly in the law. Could something as fragile as a friendship make a difference?

"Like you're doing now," said Freya. She suddenly took one of his hands between both her own. "Look, we just can't stay here, all right? Where do you want to go? Where were you planning on going?"

He looked at their hands. "Nowhere. I was planning to die."

He heard her breathe in sharply and hold it. "Then I'll take you back with me," she said, only the faintest tremble in her voice. She stood up and tugged him to his feet. "Come on. If we leave now we could be there by sunset tomorrow."

"How?" he asked dully, watching her kick sand over the fire.

"Blaze will be waiting on the shore. My horse. I think we should ride. I don't want him being found by anyone. They'll send out searchers."

"We need to eat," he objected as she towed him back along the path to the waiting rowboat.

"I have food in my pack. It's up a tree right now. We've been sleeping practically all day; we can ride through the night. It'll be safer."

He waited until they were both in the creaking boat before asking, "What about all the nasty things in the forest? These lands are dangerous at night."

"Don't worry. I'll try not to kill anyone." She saw his expression and misinterpreted it. "I try not to anyway, but it's so hard when everything smells like blood and my body does the thinking instead of my brain. I suppose it can't help it. It's only doing what it thinks it's for. That's what I tell myself at three in the morning." She was holding on tightly to the side of the boat, he noticed, and tensing at every ripple.

"What are you talking about?"

"I thought you knew. I'm a shapeshifter." A little trace of nervousness appeared in her eyes, and she smiled at him rather desperately. "I won't hurt you. I don't think I could. I do try not to hurt other people too badly."

"I can change shape too, and it's never been a problem."

"What form do you like?"

"Like? What does that have to do with it?"

They reached the rotting dock and scrambled up onto the slippery wood.

"Well, it affects what shape you naturally go into," Freya tried to explain. "What do you usually turn into?"

"It's just an aging potion, without needing the potion. It's useful for when I absolutely have to use magic in public and of course I can't do it as myself."

"Oh. You stay human?"

"Of course! What else is there?"

She stopped and stared down at the ground. Merlin couldn't hear her response. "What?"

"Never mind. It's not important. Just - just - let's go, all right? I have a promise to keep."

A tall grey horse appeared from between the trees. Freya climbed one of them and threw down her luggage and a saddle. They loaded the horse and got on its back.

"Are you sure he can carry everything and both of us?" Merlin asked doubtfully.

"Yes!" Freya said impatiently, reaching around him and taking the reins. "I can't see very well over your shoulder. You're too tall." She thrust the reins into his hands and held onto his belt instead. "Blaze, take us back to the village."

Merlin watched in amazement as the horse's long ears quivered and flicked backwards, and then he turned his head and started off through the trees in a gentle canter.

"He's trained for it. All our horses are," said Freya from behind him. He felt her rest her head on his shoulder. "He'll take us back by the shortest road."

"That's remarkable. Where is the village?"

"About ten miles over the border. Your home."

"Sorry?"

"Where you were born, anyway? Ealdor. The druids rule that part of the mountains now, and it's the center of the country."

"You're not serious. It's only got two cows and a field!"

"More like six cows and four fields now. You're forgetting the cave system, too. It's a big druid complex now. Libraries and vaults and storerooms and everything."

"That's where you've been all this time?"

"Mostly. Sometimes I was in Camelot with the patrols. We were quite close to the castle once. I wanted to leave a note for Sophie, but then we found her running away."

"Oh. Yes. Arthur thought it would be useful if they alerted you to what was going on."

"We already had an idea of it, but they told us some useful things." She hesitated. He felt her breathing speed up. "Why did you betray Arthur? Why did you let Melisende access the doorway in the Cave?"

"Because I had no choice," Merlin answered bitterly after a while. "I could see the invasion coming and knew he'd have no chance against them. No chance at all. I saw him die again and I just couldn't let that happen. That's why I helped her. She promised me that if I gave her the power to open the doorways, she'd let him escape. Then it all went wrong. I was getting weaker, she knew it, and she broke all her promises. I tried to object, but I couldn't stand up to her by then. It was awful."

"I'm sorry," Freya whispered.

"It was a stupid thing to do. So stupid. I should have just warned him and stayed with him. I should have told him I have magic. He didn't mind so much after he got used to the idea when I told him before."

"Before? Why doesn't he remember?" She could feel the fluttering of his heart against her fingers. It reminded her of the way Thalassa had nestled into her hands when she was just hatched.

"It was between his being stabbed and dying. He doesn't remember anything from those three days. He was so . . . kind. Even though he was dying, even when he realized how much I've lied to him. He said it didn't matter. He was . . ."

"Why don't you want to tell him again, then? He's still kind." She thought of the way his eyes had given away his joy when she had taken her mask off and he had realized that she was alive. "He cares for people. Not just justice. He'll listen when you explain."

"I don't want to force him to make that choice!" Merlin snapped. "If he doesn't punish me for letting - helping! - Melisende take the kingdom, then he'll have to let other people who do bad things for bad reasons off too. Where would it stop? I don't want to make him have to do that. He's my friend."

"Yes, and you're his, and a lot of other people's, too. If they know that you were only trying to save him, they'll understand. You won't be an exception, you'll be a hero."

"I won't do that to him!"

Freya was quiet. He was shaking now. It upset him to talk about leaving Camelot, but that was what he would think he had to do. It was technically still her job now to protect it, not his. That was the problem, right there. There was no way she was going back to the empty rooms in the castle. She would return to Camelot with Merlin or not at all.


	6. Chapter 6

It was just light enough to see when they finally stopped to rest. Blaze wandered off into the trees, grazing on the lush grass. Merlin started a fire in the shelter of an enormous tree. Freya lay down on her spread-out cloak and stared up at the faint outlines of leaves. It seemed like years since she had been sitting with Arthur and Mordred, waiting for the storm to break, but it had only been two days.

"Will he come back?"

Freya turned her head and looked at Merlin. The firelight lit up his face oddly, throwing shadows across it. "Who?"

"Your horse. You didn't tether him."

"He won't go far. He wouldn't leave me."

Merlin nodded.

"There's a blanket in my pack," Freya volunteered after a while.

Merlin got the blanket and came to her side of the fire. He spread it out on the grass beneath the tree and sat down. He seemed to be thinking about something. She watched him for a long time, while the birds woke up and began their morning routine of yelling in song at the tops of their voices.

"Is it only druids who live in Ealdor now?" he finally asked.

"No. Most of the original population lives there too." She hesitated.

"That's good," he said. "Are we just stopping for a few minutes or will it be longer?"

She crawled over to him, dragging her cloak behind her. She curled up next to him, tugging it around her. "I don't care."

It was mid-morning when Merlin woke up. Blaze was standing patiently on the other side of the dying fire, looking at him with soft dark eyes. Freya was curled up in a tight ball next to him, just like a cat. The forest was alive with the sound of wind.

He lay with his hands behind his head for a while and watched the branches playing in the wind and the sun. It was peaceful. He hadn't had a moment like this for a very long time: there had been plenty of times when he'd had nothing to do, but he'd never had a friend with him. Not since Arthur died. And when he had come back, they had been much too busy to really talk to each other about what had happened before.

She was so strange, this unexpected child of Morgana. In some ways, she was exactly like the sisters, but in others, she reminded him so strongly of Arthur that sometimes he thought she was his daughter. Merlin stared at the sleeping girl. She had the family bones, and something of Morgause about her too, especially in her hair and her eyes. But her heart was turning out completely opposite to what he had expected. She did not have Morgana's disposition, even though she'd been through nearly the same experiences.

Freya opened her eyes and looked directly into his. She smiled and reached out to catch his hand. "You're still here," she murmured.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

She gave a tiny shrug. "I'm dangerous."

It was not the reply he'd been expecting. "So am I, if we want to compete."

"Not in the same way as me. You've never torn someone's throat out, have you?"

"Er - no."

"See," she said, as if that proved something important.

"No, I don't."

"You think you need to go live in a cave somewhere because you have magic and sometimes make wrong decisions. If that was true, everyone would live alone. Everyone has some kind of power and everyone does stupid things sometimes. You're just more obviously powerful than most people, so you need to be careful. Like me. I think that technically I am more dangerous than you, so you needn't worry about corrupting me."

"It's not so much what I could do as what I've done," he answered.

"Do you think you know what I've done? Nothing better than you, and I think most of the time you had a better reason."

"Does this have something to do with tearing people's throats out?"

"Yes."

He looked at her incredulously. She was light enough for him to carry with one arm and barely tall enough to come up to his shoulder. "How?" he asked.

She sat up, pushing her fuzzy braid away from her face. "I can take any shape I want. I naturally choose an animal one."

"Really? Like a werewolf?"

She shrugged. "Wolf is all right, but it isn't as comfortable as a cat. A big cat, not a house cat or even a street cat. I mean the kind of cat that can slit a man open with one swipe of my back claws and is big enough to take down a knight's armored horse. A dangerous animal."

"You can really change form into an animal?"

"Yes."

"What does it feel like?"

She put her head on one side and considered. "Like putting on a different outfit. Quick. Strong. Tingly. The smells and sounds sharpen and sights diminish, except at night. At night it is like the moon is full every night. The animal body has its own thoughts. Sometimes, during fights, it does things, and I try not to look. Sometimes it eats things I would not. All of us know how it is. We talk about it among ourselves but not with anyone else, because they do not understand."

"There are more shapechangers? Where?"

She gave him an odd look. "There are eight of us. Six prefer the wolf shape. I am a cat. There is a bear also. You know him."

"I do?"

"He did not know his abilities until he died and came alive again. He is my brother, and yours now also."

"Who is it?" Merlin asked impatiently, intrigued by her sudden tenseness. Then he realized what she had said. "What do you mean, your brother and mine?"

"Only by adoption, not by blood, but we were a family after I came and I hope we can stay as one. We were as happy as we could be while knowing the battles that were ahead of us." She began to pull her braid apart and run a comb through her hair, wincing when it caught in a knot. "Your mother took us in, and we are a family."

"She's alive? Are you sure?" Merlin sat up abruptly, his eyes sparkling.

"She was when I left for Camelot," Freya said cautiously. "I don't know why she shouldn't still be." She looked up from her hair and glared at him. "She trusts him and loves him, so you should not be suspicious of him. He is sorry for what he did, and I think that Arthur will forgive him once he has time to understand."

"Who is it?"

"Mordred."

Merlin reacted as if he had been bitten. "Mordred! He's alive? Why?"

Freya's eyes were cold. "How should I know? He's alive and on our side. There is no reason for you to hate him."

"He killed -"

"Yes, as a pawn!" she snapped. "You did the same when you killed me. The outcome was the same, too. So how are you different from him, exactly?"

Merlin was silent.

"That's all in the past. This is now. He's my brother. Let him alone."

0000

It was a long, silent ride over the border to Ealdor. Merlin was still trying to cope with the new knowledge, and Freya was worrying about what he would think when he saw her in animal form. It would happen someday, no matter how much she tried to avoid it. What would he think if he saw her fighting? He was such a gentle person. It would repulse him.

Blaze twitched his ears and snorted happily as they came over the last hill and saw the village twinkling in the dusk below them. Freya felt Merlin gasp.

"It's three times the size it used to be!"

"Yes. Many druids live here now."

She was riding in the front now, and guided Blaze through the deserted streets to the smithy, where he trotted eagerly into his stable. She unloaded him and fed him. Merlin watched, leaning against one wall.

"You're certainly more at home with horses now," he remarked. She smiled in satisfaction.

"I have learned much from the druids. In some things, they make more sense. For instance, Blaze chose me. He is mine for life. Strange things will happen before I ride another druid's horse or they ride mine. We are friends, not workers."

"That sounds more like the dragons."

"It is." She picked up her pack and led him out of the stable and across the road to the little gate into the garden. The house was dark. Hunith was not at home.

Freya flung her pack down on the floor in her room and stretched. It had been a long series of days since she had seen it last, and so many feelings had flooded in that she had not had time to think about them all. She knelt in front of the dragon egg, putting her hands gently on the shell.

You came padding into the room and rubbed up against her, purring loudly. She smiled and caught at his tail as he brushed it across her face. "Hello, You."

Merlin wandered in and stood behind her. "Where did you find that?"

"He's Mordred's cat."

"No, the dragon egg!"

"Down in the vaults. The druids keep about a dozen. I don't know where they found them, but Wulfric said it took generations to find some of them."

"Who's Wulfric?"

Freya stood up, gently pushing You away, and turned to face Merlin. He saw the anxiety in her face and frowned. "He's one of the triumvirate, the most powerful. He's been my main teacher. I like Iseldir better. He is more flexible. Mordred said he took care of him for a while when he was young. Anyway, Wulfric is . . . very traditional. That's good, usually, but although he knows we don't have to sacrifice people or do other nasty cruel things anymore, he still believes that some things can only be settled by blood." She had looked away after the first few words, and fussed around with her staff, untying it from her pack and leaning it carefully against the wall.

"So? Most druids do," Merlin said vaguely. He was looking at her staff. He hadn't gotten a clear look at it before, but now in the candlelight he could see it plainly. "How did you get that?" he demanded.

"Mordred had it," she answered, surprised. "He said he found it lying around in a cellar or somewhere in the castle and took it with him when he joined Morgana. The druids kept it for a while and he claimed it again when he came here. Why?"

"That used to belong to a Sidhe girl. She and her father tried to use Arthur as a sacrifice to let her enter Avalon again. I stopped them, using that, and I kept it afterwards."

"It was yours?" She looked surprised.

"I never really used it much. It was too clumsy. But it was useful a few times, especially against fairies."

"I stored the power of a storm in it and used it to kill practically all Melisende's army in one go." She shivered and sat down on the bed. "I hadn't really thought of it like that before," she whispered, staring in horror at the staff. "That's awful."

Merlin sat down beside her and put his arm around her. "You only did what you had to, and you did it quickly."

"All those wasted lives," she said, burrowing into his side and putting both her arms around him. He was surprised. Before, she had had a personal space bubble that had a diameter in double digits. He stroked her hair, which was beginning to knot itself up again.

"I know. I have done the same, you know, and cried over the deaths of men I did not know who died before their time just because of me. Then I remember what would have been lost if I hadn't fought, and -"

"It doesn't make it worthwhile!" she interrupted fiercely.

"No. Ideas are never worth lives like that, especially lives of men who only fight because of oaths or fear. But the people we protect, Cottia. They make it possible for me to at least forgive myself, because I know the world would be a worse place without them. It doesn't take away the pain, but it makes it bearable."

She closed her eyes and stayed quiet, huddled against him, feeling his breathing and his heart beating, very faintly, against her cheek. What could she say in answer to that? It was true. She had fought alongside Arthur so that he would not die, and then later, when she saw the army from the Other Side, in the uniforms she knew so well, she had remembered how they had treated her when she was in their hands, and knew how they had treated him, and the anger and the fear had given her the strength to strike. He was her doorway, the keeper of the place where she truly belonged. She could not have let him die. She could not kill him now.

Wulfric would expect her to, of course. Everyone would. Even Arthur. After all, even though Merlin was his friend, he had betrayed him. Justice had to be done. She was the only one who could administer it. No one else had the power to kill something like Merlin. Something like her. They were the same, and so belonged together.

Justice. What was justice, really? It was making sure that everything was fair for everyone.

"Are you all right?" He was still running his fingers through her hair. It made her want to purr, and slowed her frantic thoughts. She moved a little, so that she was still sheltered in his shadow but could look up at him out of the corner of her eyes. He was looking down at her, and he was worried. "You look tired."

She nodded, turning her face into his shoulder again. All the years she had been drifting, waiting for promises that had turned out to be lies, had left scars. She had learned to use the uncertainty and anger at the constant rejection as armor. But here, she did not need it. It was strange, and frightening, but she also felt safe. He was with her, and he would teach her how to be a human and not just a girl. He was the lighthouse in the storm.

"I want to stay here. Home," she said quietly, and felt the itching tightness rise up in her as the frozen tears melted. She let them, although they were stilted and uneven. They stung, but somehow they settled her more than anything had ever done before.

He had both his arms around her now, and had lifted her and pulled her across his lap like she was a baby. He held her close and rested his chin on the top of her head. Normally she did not like people to touch her. It was different now. If she didn't hold him tight enough, he might disappear. It might turn out to be a dream. She might lose him again, and this time never find him. So she held to him and was reassured that he was holding her too.

"I am sorry you have to carry all this," he said after a very long time. "I wanted to keep it from you, because it's such a weight. I didn't even know about how strong you were, or that you were a Dragonlord. I just knew that you were her daughter. How heavy is that knowledge?"

"It isn't exactly heavy. It's just always there. I see myself thinking like her and I make myself stop. I'm not like her. I'll never be like her. Everything she was, I will not be."

"You are your own person. You've won."

"I'll have to fight it for the rest of my life. It's heredity. I can't stop myself thinking like her, and like the old king. I don't act like they did, but that's only because I watch myself all the time and I have a home to keep me grounded."

She felt him look around the room. "Do you like having a family?"

"Yes, very much," she said, reaching up to touch his cheek with one fingertip, her eyes still closed. "I fought for it, my first and last battle. I don't mind giving all that up."

"Giving what up?"

"All that power and knowledge. I want to learn things the normal way, and forget them, and have to stop because I don't know things."

"But you haven't given it up."

She smiled. "I know I have, because I am here."

"It's a rather strange family, but I am glad they mean so much to you."

"Who? Hunith and Mordred? I like them very much, and I trust them, but no more than Sophie or Avelina or Andrei. They're not my true family. My true family is here."

Merlin put a hand on her chin and tipped her face up so he could look at her. "Just me?"

She nodded. "And the dragons," she added as an afterthought. "The little ones are like children, and the older ones are brothers."

He smiled, and she smiled back and let her head rest against his shoulder again. That seemed to be all that needed to be said just yet.

"Why me?" he asked a while later, when her breathing was so slow that he would have thought she was asleep, but her eyes were open. She was looking out of the window, watching the stars. He had been holding her for hours, but he did not feel sleepy.

"You feel safe. No one has ever made me feel safe. You don't care what I can do or what I look like. You care because I can keep up with your mind. That means you can understand me. No one has ever understood me." She yawned lazily. Some thought made her eyes cloud. "Will you fear me when you see what I can become?"

He looked at her thoughtfully as she uncoiled out of his arms and curled up sleepily on the bed. "I don't think so," he said at last, getting up. "The eyes always stay the same, no matter what. Some part of the self stays with them. I think I know what you are deep inside, and you are true."

He started to leave, but she reached out and caught his hand. He turned and saw her looking at him pleadingly, her eyes full of fear. "They don't understand," she whispered. "They want to make us fight. They want you dead." Her fingers tightened. "It's not safe."

Merlin looked back at her, a little embarrassed. She blinked at him and then slid over to make room for him. He hesitated.

"What's wrong? We've been this close dozens of times on patrol. It's practically the same, except without shoes on and no rain."

He laughed and curled up beside her. Maybe she hadn't grown as much as he thought. It was a comforting idea. She was still the tense, wary, dangerously innocent child who had caught his heart in the beginning. And he was tired. Very tired. He was asleep almost before he could relax.


End file.
